


What Happens In Vegas

by FiddleStixx



Category: Beauty Vloggers, Youtube RPF
Genre: Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Major Illness, Mpreg, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 07:51:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16132910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FiddleStixx/pseuds/FiddleStixx
Summary: ‘What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas’. But what if James brings a piece of Vegas home with him that he didn’t mean to take?





	What Happens In Vegas

“ _You are only 19._ ” The stupid voice in his head mocks as he tires to apply his foundation and keep talking to the camera.

It sounds like his mother, he hopes it’s not. He still has to get around to that. He’ll most likely call her later. Maybe.

 

“ _You are only 19. Don’t do this. Don’t throw your life away._ ” Now it sounds different, as he tries to put on eyeshadow. It sounds like one of his old teachers. Most likely because it sounds like something a teacher /would/ say. He just tried to breathe and move on, ignoring and talking like normal. Trying his best to anyway.

 

“ _You still haven't told Grayson yet, have you?_ ” That, spoken in his head using none other than his little brother Ian’s voice in the back of his mind, freezes him finally, messing up the final look. All that effort, all the struggle to just get out of bed this morning, to eat, to prepare, to film, wasted.

 

Sniffling, James Charles lowered the mascara, watching as it and the makeup started to run over the left side of his face as he cried, exposing his now paler than normal skin. He didn’t want to think about that. It hurt too much to think about. Him and Grayson were a thing. Were being the operative word. After the road trip to Vegas, with his twin Ethan and their mutual friend Emma, they had broken up. Gone their separate ways. It was needed for their careers. That’s what both him and Grayson said.

 

Mostly Grayson though.

 

He just agreed so that he could go home faster. To cry alone in his room. He wanted to just forget about it. Move on. It was done. The whole thing was over. At least, 6 months ago, he had thought that.

Right now, however, that was the least of his problems.

He wasn’t supposed to be making a video. Wasn’t supposed to be filming or anything. In fact, he wasn’t supposed to even be downstairs or even out of his bed today, or any day. If Ian caught him there at his makeup desk, he’d kill him and James honestly would let him. He’s way too ill to actually give a reason to stop him putting him back upstairs in bed again. Shakily, he managed to get himself up from the desk, bracing his back carefully and swallowing the now constant urge to be sick on all his belongings, pale feet and stance wobbly as he tried to move carefully, breathing harsh.

Unable to really move fast, he stumbled towards the stairs, hand weakly grabbing the banister and rail, while the other hand went to the underside of a tiny bump protruding out of his body and hoodie, sweating just from the simple action and eyes heavy from both exhaustion and the current fever he was running. This had become the new normal for him in the last 6 months.

The new normal that Grayson gave him, the new normal he’d submitted himself to, in Ian’s and various medical practitioner's eyes, tortured himself with. James hated it, but also loved his reprieves, though now extremely rare. Those reprieves, when he wasn’t coughing up a lung or vomiting on his knees or worse, he treasured, for one simple reason.

The same reason that was making him so very ill and delicate enough to be almost like glass. Because they were, in a way. Both of them.

His current thoughts crowded with that information, he managed to get halfway up the stairs before they was a problem. He felt dizzy. The dizzy spells he got nowadays knocked the wind out of him, so he knew he had to stop before it got worse, but this...this one felt different. This one felt...oh god. It rushed over him, knocking him about terribly, making the urge to vomit more and more pronounced, but nothing really came up despite his shuddering. It would have been okay, eventually, but then, when he got up to move, thinking it was over, it came back.

This time, he couldn’t keep his balance, flailing arms unable to catch him or his now increased front as he pitched backwards, heading for the ground.

The only thing he could do, at that moment, was wrap his arms around his stomach as he made contact with the floor.

 

The moment his head hit the ground, mercifully, he blacked out.


End file.
